The year: 2012. The president: well, we're not told. What we do know, from a cheeky opening title card, is that the American economy has collapsed and the prison system is overflowing (isn't it already?). As a result the prisons are run by corporations (evil ones, being the implication) for profit. So begins "Death Race", writer-director Paul W. S. Anderson's noisy, nonsensical remake of Roger Corman's "Death Race 2000". Though the year is removed from the title (Mr. Corman remains as a producer), the plot, such as it is, still revolves around a nationally televised race to the death. This time around, instead of a cross-country event, the race occurs on an island-prison ominously, but appropriately, named Terminal Island. The title card goes on to explain that these prisoners are modern day gladiators and the road is their coliseum. Oh, and they also get assigned busty co-pilots from the local women's prison, but I digress. If I were the emperor, I know which direction my thumb would be pointing (hey, they started the analogy).

In the tradition of wrongfully-accused-hero movies like, well, "Wrongfully Accused", Mr. Anderson wastes no time getting his hero behind bars. In the case of "Race", it's Jensen Ames (he's even named after a car!), a loyal husband and father with a checkered (yes, as in the flag) past. Faster than you can say "hey, isn't this the plot of 'The Fugitive'", Jensen is framed for his wife's murder and sent to Terminal Island. The prison is ruled with an iron hairdo by warden Hennessey (Joan Allen - yes, that Joan Allen). The actress - cashing, one would assume (and hope), a ginormous paycheck - plays Hennessey so icy cold that she almost appears under duress (or medicated).

It soon (and I mean real soon) becomes clear that Jensen's frame job, and his subsequent placement on the island, was no coincidence. Hennessey, it seems, has a vested interest in the titular bloodsport and, given Jensen's racing past, he's the perfect candidate to boost her apparently flagging ratings. Then, before you can say, "hey isn't this the plot of 'The Longest Yard'", Jensen is forced to drive for his freedom. There's also some nonsense which requires Jensen to don a metal mask (think a tin-plated Jason Voorhees) and call himself "Frankenstein" (a nod to the original film), but none of that makes any sense. And in a script with lines like "you're fast…race car driver fast", the less dialogue the better.

And speaking of dialogue, you can actually pinpoint the moment when "Death Race" stops being a guilty pleasure and starts being guilty of laziness. It comes right around the time Ms. Allen utters the soon-to-be-classic laughline, "Release the Dreadnought". I'm not going to go into much detail about that statement, except to say that what follows fails to make sense even in the paper-thin world created by "Death Race".

At the center of it all is Jason Statham as Jensen. You have to appreciate Mr. Statham. He has the capacity to be a blue-collar leading man ("The Bank Job") as well as a beefy bruiser ("Crank", "The Transporter" series), and he does both without the slightest hint of pretension. He's a reliable presence and he really just appears happy to have the work. But he's abandoned in a film that doesn't have the brains for satire or the sense of humor to be campy fun. What's left is Mr. Anderson's typically bombastic, sub-Michael Bay noise-making. By the time it runs off the road - with an ending the reeks of "we're out of ideas" screenwriting - "Death Race" has worn out both its tires and its welcome.